The Consulting Detective And The Dominatrix
by thestockholmsyndrome
Summary: Everybody has a weakness. It is just a question about what or whom. And finally, Jim Moriarty had found Sherlock Holmes's.   Before Holmes had met her, they were perfectly agreed. Love was the most dangerous disadvantage.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue **

Jim Moriarty would never grow up. He would certainly never get married, have children or buy a house. He was always bored, and the first time he had experienced truly happiness was when he had met Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't an equal, obviously. But he was a challenge. An enormous obstacle that had to be overcome as soon as possible. Though, Jim Moriarty had been actually worried and anxious about Holmes, suspecting that he hadn't faintness, a weak spot in his cold and impermeable defense.

How very wrong he had been.

Everybody had a weakness. It was just a question about what or whom. And finally, Jim Moriarty had found Sherlock Holmes's. Strangely, he felt disappointed and dejected. He seriously thought that he and Holmes were the same. It was almost comic that Sherlock's weak spot was the greatest softness that existed. Moriarty and Holmes had been agreed, love was always a dangerous disadvantage. And still, Holmes had fallen for it. She had as well.

It was just too _easy_. Not even entertaining or amusing. Moriarty would always remember Holmes as his greatest opponent and it was truthfully a shame that his brilliant mind had failed him so savagely. Moriarty smiled humorlessly when he thought of them as a couple. The consulting detective and the dominatrix. Who would have known?

**AN: Do you like it? Please let me know if you want me to continue. **

**Frida**


	2. Chapter 2

"_Everything I've said, it's not real. I was just playing the game."_

"_I know. And this is just losing."_

Irene Adler fought an impulse to open her eyes. That wouldn't make things better. And she didn't want to give him an opportunity to wallow in complacency. But after a while, she decided to wake up properly. Irene simulated a yawn and squinted towards the figure of Sherlock Holmes. He met her gaze alertly and laid his hand gently on her cheek. She smiled hesitantly.

"Nightmares, again?" He murmured in a doubtful voice and scrutinized her exhausted, though attentive features. She instantly composed her expression.

"No." But the obvious vagueness in her reply betrayed her and she looked down, unwilling to meet his now slightly amused glance. She sighed tiredly.

"You don't have to be afraid." He ensured her quietly. She didn't immediately answer to his statement. He lingered his arms around her, lubberly trying to comfort her.

"I know." She groaned and hid her face in his swift embrace. He chuckled, sounding frustrated about the fact that he wasn't able to work her out. Though, he had to admit, it was one of her many appeals.

"Why are you having nightmares then?" Long pause.

"This." She gestured towards the two of them. "Feels… unreal." Sherlock tensed noticeably and cleared his throat unpleasantly.

"Why?" He demanded sharply.

"We don't trust each other." She murmured against his chest.

"What are you doing here then?" His eyes narrowed and he released her from their awkward hug. She threw him a disgruntled look.

"I love you?" She uttered the sentence with doubt, clearly not trusting her words. Though they were absolutely true.

"It would be rather strange if you didn't." He dryly pointed out. She smirked and finally met his piercing eyes. They simply stared at each other, conversing with their very visages.

"We have to live with the issue that we love each other." He suggested and grinned cockily. She snorted.

"Sure. I must be the only person in the entire world that can match your intelligence." Now it was his turn to scoff dissatisfiedly.

"I'm way smarter than you."

"You're not!"

"I am." He smiled confidently and kissed her softly. She kissed him back, promptly taking control over his actions. She teasingly pulled away.

"You're not _smarter_ than me. Because brainy is the new sexy, and I'm sexier than you." He laughed briefly at her screwed reasoning. She interrupted him abruptly by kissing him again, eagerly and intensely, really showing her need. She could sense the corners of his mouth turn downwards.

"Again?" He muttered, though at the same time, pulled her considerably closer.

"Why not?" She breathed expectantly and responded to his touch by shivering with sudden lust.

"John's coming soon." He confessed and scratched his forehead with a sheepish look. She snickered and climbed clumsily out of the bed. She suddenly stood in front of Sherlock, who still gave the dull impression of slumbering, resting her hands on her hips.

"I guess I should leave then, considering that _Johnny boy_ is coming home." She stretched for her jeans. "Why don't you want him to know about us?" She added in another, much graver, tone. Sherlock frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know how he would handle it. Besides, I don't want _anyone_ to know." Irene couldn't help to feel offended.

"Am I really that horrible?"

"No, it's just that… _he _will find out. Sooner or later. And then I don't know what to do." The ambience in the bedroom changed drastically. Sherlock never felt comfortable with showing emotions in front of another human-being, but with Irene was it different. He behaved more naturally and allowed himself to relax, even if just in the slightest. He leaned his face in his hands, groaning heavily. He could suddenly hear his own voice, echoing loudly in his own head. _"Bitterness is paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivation."_

"He will find us, Irene! Moriarty will find us. And then…" His already low voice had faded out into nothingness. Irene walked up to him, now fully dressed, and kissed his forehead gently.

"It's going to be alright, darling. Don't worry." She soothed him quietly and stroked his cheek, his hair and his lips.

"I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to you." He said in a rush and looked up to Irene, with an almost pleading expression shining through his eyes. He realized as he looked at her, that if Moriarty ever harmed her in any possible way, he would walk through hell and back again to get revenge.

"A clever man once told me that love was a dangerous disadvantage. I think he was right. Though, I think that love is wonderful." She said slowly, still looking into his eyes with the special, almost severe with emotion, expression that only a woman can wear. "If you find the right person to share the love with."

Their lips met and Irene sensed something wet on Sherlock's cheek, though she chose not to point it out. She wanted to spare him the embarrassment for once. Irene grabbed his shoulders tightly, pulling him forcefully towards her. As she took off her shirt, Sherlock sent John a grateful thought and hoped that he wouldn't come home for another while.

**AN: Jesus guys, I'm so sorry. This chapter is completely rubbish. So am I, I have a cold and fever and it feels like I'm going to die. I may rewrite this when I'm able to microwave noodles again, without fainting. Anyway, review and have pity for me. I'm so extremely ILL!**

**Frida (Today I won't give you any kisses and hugs, because I'm certainly not in the mood.)**


	3. Chapter 3

After the occurrence in Karachi discovered Sherlock Holmes that there existed three varieties of Irene Adler. The first one was _the dominatrix,_ or to be more precise, Irene as she worked. Sherlock did seldom meet her because they were both perfectly agreed that they were equals, both intellectually and sexually. The second type was _the woman_ who Sherlock admired because of her superior mind capacity and had desired since the first time they had encountered. She was clever and repeatedly showing herself when Irene was assisting Sherlock during specific cases. The third and last variety of Irene Adler was simply _Irene_, the woman Sherlock had fallen in love with.

Sherlock Holmes didn't sleep much because of the obvious dullness in the very act. But, as he dryly so often pointed out, he was only human. So when Sherlock Holmes slept, he _really_ did sleep. The morning when our story is told, Sherlock was sleeping. Rather deep. However, Irene Adler wasn't slumbering at all and frequently threw him anxious glances as she considered waking him up. _She_ had comforted _him_ the entire evening before, though she honestly was just as worried as he was. Moriarty would never leave them alone if he found out about their balmy relationship. You know dear reader, that special flash of intuition a woman senses before her greatest fear verifies? Irene Adler had one of those in the exact moment you're reading this. Most women get panicked, frightened or lose it completely when they feel it. But Irene Adler wasn't like most women, so she calmly got dressed, pecked a dazed Sherlock on the lips and ordered a cab when the clock struck eleven. She opened the door that lead to the abrupt reality and hesitated before she took a determined step out of the tenement, facing the cab. She froze and the possibilities flew through her mind for a brief second. She took a quick decision, walked up to the end of Baker Street and smoothly climbed into the cab. She looked stiffly forward and fought an impulse to inhale sharply when she saw the familiar face features of the supposed cabbie reflect in the car mirror.

"So you've found me?"

"Please, Irene." James Moriarty voice was smoldering with dissatisfaction as he met her terrified gaze. She unemotionally composed her expression and suddenly became a crossover between _the dominatrix _and _the woman_.

"I've found both of you. Or have you already forgotten your toy in the apartment next to us? Tell me, are his bruises already healed or are they still bleeding like open wounds? Where have you hidden the riding crop?" He really did sound interested and Irene forced herself to keep her appearance calm. She had to play her cards well, as she vaguely suspected that he held the ace.

"Still bleeding. And the riding crop is perfectly safe, thank you" She smirked and tried to lie as naturally as she possibly could.

"You've been quite naughty, haven't you?"

"You know me." Her heart beat faster because of the obvious lack of truth in every statement or question. With clients or other folks, was Irene Adler generally a goddess when it came to lying. But this was James Moriarty, and she knew that if she was the goddess, then he was the god.

"Actually, I thought I did. But that was of course before you fell in love with Sherlock Holmes." The ace. Of course, how on earth could she have been so stupid?

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's only a game." She snorted but avoided meeting his gaze, distrusting that she could hold onto the lie if he saw the vulnerability in her eyes.

"No it's not. I know everything, Irene. The password? In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook." She didn't reply, realizing that she was losing. Again. Though, this loss resulted in far more vicious consequences than the last one had.

"This is… none of your business?"

"I think it is. I need your help with an affair, or you will see your dear Holmsie boy die a _very_ violent death." Irene couldn't restrain herself. She gasped and tightly braided her small and corpse white hands together.

"No." she breathed and true horror shone through her heartbroken expression. "He's not like everybody else. He's not work or a game. You will not touch him as long as I shall live." She winced when she had uttered the forbidden and rather cliché-like sentence.

"I was work then?"

"You paid me."

"He doesn't pay you?" Suddenly, Irene couldn't fight her temper any longer and acted without thought. She slapped Moriarty hardly in the face, leaving a visible and red handprint on his right cheek. He smiled innocently, not affected by the minor assault.

"I see now why he's fond of you. You're quite something extra, Miss Adler."

"Leave us alone."

"No. You're not boring. Though love is, I have to admit. Perhaps I get tired of you both and then I promise you, Irene, that _you_ at least will be pleased."

"I don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about."

"I will let you die in peace, and _together._" He spat, sounding almost disgusted, and started the engine of the car. She opened the door and got out, not bothering about closing it again. She stood hesitantly on the sidewalk for a brief moment, clearly unsure of what to do. Irene abruptly and unexpectedly burst into laughter just as Jim Moriarty intended to drive away, god knows where.

"You know Jim, I feel sorry for you." For the first time during the conversation, he looked flabbergasted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a pity that you've never loved someone. Or to be more precise, it is a pity that you've never loved Sherlock Holmes. You see, that's _never_ boring."

She smirked in a very Irene-like way and nodded against Jim Moriarty before she swiftly turned around to the sound of the leaving wain, trusting that Sherlock wouldn't mind her staying for a potentially longer time. She actually didn't think he would express an objection.

**Well, I really got disappointed when I didn't get any reviews. This time, I think the chapter's better but not **_**good.**_** I will possibly not update this story anymore because of the lack of response. Sry guys, but I'm a very sensitive person who talks and writes far too much rubbish for my own good. **

**Love you all, dear readers.**

**XoXo**

**Frida **


	4. Chapter 4

As Irene Adler so confidently had predicted, didn't Sherlock Holmes raise an objection. Though, he looked suspicious when he casually greeted her on the doorstep of the tenement of 221 Baker Street.

"Irene." _Translation – What are you doing here?_

"I felt like staying a little longer." She shrugged and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He automatically laid a finger against her lips, unwilling to be seen with her in a romantic way in public. He was still concerned about Moriarty finding out about them. Irene considered it a useless security measure to take nowadays, though she wasn't going to share the opinion with Sherlock at the very moment.

"You didn't. You never feel like staying longer. Why aren't you telling me what's troubling you?" His sharp voice made Irene almost sigh. Why did he have to be so observant? When she recently had spoken to Jim Moriarty, Irene certainly didn't fancy another mind game in the spirit of Sherlock Holmes. She preferred Cluedo.

"Nothing, darling. You're far too paranoid for your own good." His eyes narrowed. Sherlock scrutinized Irene closely, neither speaking nor touching her. In the exact second, Sherlock realized that Irene wasn't going to tell him about her problem and Irene understood that Sherlock knew that she was hiding something from him. Irene chose to break the silence, clearly distrusting her ability to keep the "I-haven't-done-anything-special" expression.

"Dinner?" she blurted out and gently laid her right hand onto his chest, as to demonstrate her own proposal. He smirked and lingered his long, nervous fingers around her wrists, determinedly removing them from his thorax.

"Nice try. I actually have realised that we do little else than having dinner" He complimented her and grinned even wider when the corners of her mouth slightly turned down. He hesitated and considered the possibilities briefly. "Let's go inside." He finally suggested and gestured towards the front door. Irene nodded, visibly pleased and companied him as he marched inside.

"Anything to drink? No, I've changed my mind, drinking's boring. Tell me what's going on." He demanded shortly and continued walking back and forth in the little apartment, as he always did when he was thinking. Without in- or exhale once, he reached for his suddenly ringing phone. "Lestrade? No. Yes, I'm busy. Yes, obviously! I'll see you later." He ended the phone call in blur, still looking hungrily at Irene. It was an expression she usually associated with more _physical _activities, though this time was it her mind and not her body he craved.

"I won't tell you." She teasingly whispered and kissed his cheek. He shot her an angry glance, clearly dissatisfied with her stubborn answer.

"Irene. It could be important."

"Oh, it is." She murmured in his ear. He shivered unwillingly. Irene took the opportunity to kiss him more fiercely and giggled as she ripped her shirt off. He kissed her eagerly back, pulling her considerably closer to him. _Darling, you're so easy to distract._ Irene smiled pleasantly to herself and continued to undress the both of them. Sherlock abruptly stopped himself in a movement and quietly laughed against the surface of her skin.

"I know why I love you, Irene."

"And I know why I love you. Don't stop! We're enjoying ourselves, Mr. Holmes." She exclaimed dramatically and they spontaneously grinned at each other at the thought of their first meeting.

"The dominatrix and the consulting detective. Who would've known?" He amusingly asked her and reached for his shirt. She snorted and swore under her breath. Trying to distract the object, _failing. _Irene instantly shuddered and tried to control her natural instincts. She realized that she had to tell him, sooner or later. _Hopefully later_, she added mentally.

"Are you tired?" Sherlock questioned her when he understood that she was lost in thoughts. She nodded and sighed heavily. She had to admit that Sherlock was right about the entire slumbering issue, sleeping was awfully boring though she had been sleeping unusually many hours the latest couple of days. She gave him an early goodnight kiss and headed for his bedroom. In the doorway, she vacillated for a second, before she turned around to face Sherlock again. She smiled sadly and scrutinized her secret weakness and greatest love.

"You're always right about everything." She admitted as she carefully opened the door and went inside the other room, leaving it ajar. "Even about Moriarty." She exhaled, knowing that he would be able to hear her confession. "Goodnight, Sherlock. Dream sweet dreams, if you're going to bed tonight."

Now, dear reader, let's stop the story here. I know that you're perhaps not an Irene/Sherlock shipper. Or perhaps you are. That doesn't really matter. When Sherlock now is at least a bit shocked and tries to analyze what Irene just have been saying, I'm telling you about his rather traumatic past.

Sherlock Holmes had a tough childhood and adulthood because of his unusual personality. He was neither a loving, nor caring individual. When he was younger, around my age or so, he convinced himself that "Alone is what I have, alone is what protects me." Although, a person who is unaccompanied and lonely for a longer amount of time isn't an actual proper human-being, simply because mankind needs company to function. When Sherlock Holmes met Irene Adler, (Yes, here comes the pairing, quit reading if you're a Johnlockian) he didn't feel isolated anymore. He met an equal, someone who understood and him on his own terms, and that is probably why Sherlock Holmes fell in love with her.

**Sorry for a shorter chapter. I've decided to post another one-shot, if you review, obviously. Take care, and remember to review my other stories as well or perhaps read some fics by Aussieflower, the unofficial queen of the Sherlock/Irene pairing.**

**Happy Easter, by the way. **


	5. Chapter 5

"I've changed my mind." She shortly said in the telephone earpiece. She could almost hear him grin.

"You're just sooo predictable. What do you want from me?"

"A passport in the name Margaret Devereux, money and a safe trip out of this country."

"What about dear Sherlock."

"He'll understand. We're not a couple. We're not capable to love each other for real"

"Well, Iren-e." He coughed loudly in her ear. "You know what to do."

"Do I?"

"I really, really, really hope so. For your own sake." The silence was thick and heavy and Irene didn't bother to break it. She ended the phone call with a distinct movement and a sigh. She didn't know exactly what had made her change her mind, but she knew that Sherlock would understand. After all, he had always suspected her to leave, and prepared for it himself. It was natural for her to run away from the individuals she cared for.

She was alone in the apartment; Sherlock had left to assist Lestrade on a particularly difficult case. She knew that she couldn't explain anything to him in person or by texting, and wrote a label that she placed in a book in a bookshelf. He would know which. She dressed quickly and sauntered around the apartment for the last time possibly ever. She hesitated before she picked up her phone and texted him.

_Goodbye Mr Holmes – MD_

She carefully closed the door and left Baker Street without another glance, thought or reflection.

Sherlock understood immediately as he came back. He threw a glance at his violin before he decided to examine the apartment more closely. He briefly looked at his phone and read the text without changing his expression. His eyes remained cold and hard as he automatically started to think and deduce. MD? Her new name, obviously. Would she leave without a word? No, he decided after a couple of seconds. They had lived together for six months. She would most definitely explain or at least dwell on with satisfaction. Why would she otherwise tell him her new name? MD… MD. Of _course_. MD. Margaret Devereux. The mother of Dorian Gray who married, and betrayed, several different men because of her offensive beauty. He instantly started to search after the actual book, _The Portrait of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde. He found it and opened it without hesitation. A label.

_Sherlock. I can't do this; I can't deal with the sentiment. I've decided to work with him. I think we will meet again, but then I won't be Irene. But you'll always be the only one I ever had feelings for. I would probably say that I'm sorry, but I'm not. We both saw this coming._

_Goodbye_

**AN: I don't know what happened, this chapter kind of wrote itself. Yes, I changed the storyline in **_**The Portrait of Dorian Gray **_**a bit. However, this is not the end. This is only the beginning. **

**REVIEW FOR MORE! LONGER CHAPTERS WAIT!**


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